


The Future or Bust

by rocketpool



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, and also because Koryou asked really nicely, because Derek is a moron, because Stiles is not a moron, but this has a happy ending, happy belated birthday, references canonical non-graphic light physical violence that can be interpreted as abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocketpool/pseuds/rocketpool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Derek needs a favor and Stiles puts his foot in his mouth. Fortunately, it's something that had to be dealt with eventually anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Future or Bust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Koryou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koryou/gifts).



> Happy (really kind of late oh my god I'm sorry) birthday Koryou. <3
> 
> Thanks to Sarah and Lisa for cheering me on and for the betas.
> 
> There's a number of geek references sprinkled throughout the story. The content they're quoting or referencing is obviously not mine. Title taken from _Back to the Future III_.

“Man, tell me you actually watched Walking Dead last night. The way Rick tried to make Daryl--” Stiles starts to say as he drops his books on his desk. He stops when Scott blinks up at him. “What, are you... Oh come on.”

Scott sort of shrugs. “I was busy?”

“Busy.” Stiles collapses into his seat, trying to sound more annoyed than dejected. He slumps forward and drops his voice so only Scott will hear him. “Considering it's a new moon and you weren't calling or texting with a desperate need for research or a brand new idea that'll bang up my Jeep a little more, I'm guessing that means Allison.”

Scott's only reply is to turn a very interesting shade of red.

“Just great,” Stiles mutters to himself. _Am I the only one not getting laid?_

Somehow they make it through the day without anything presumed dead coming back to kill them or driving one of their friends crazy, or some new big bad wow-why-aren't-you-this-ugly-all-the-time thing killing miscellaneous members of the community. Stiles also manages to not strangle Scott, or throw up when Scott sees Allison in the hallway and they stifle Stiles with their sickly-sweet hearts-and-kisses, or bash his own head into the nearest locker when he sees Lydia with her third boyfriend-of-the-week since Jackson up and bailed. He doesn't even skip lacrosse practice when Danny gives him that utterly sympathetic look and pats him on the shoulder.

“Were I single, I would take you in a manly fashion,” Danny says. “Cos you're pretty.” And okay, that makes things a little bit better. Quoting Washburn and at least _suggesting_ that he'd be attractive to gay guys can do that.

And hey, he makes it through practice without falling on his face. (Which is impressive, actually, since the new players seem determined to prove themselves by taking him out.)

But then he gets ditched after school. Because Scott forgot – again – that the Jeep is in the shop – again – because of something Stiles did for Scott – again – and was supposed to give Stiles a ride at least as far as the station. He could try calling Scott, since, ironically enough, Allison wouldn't be willing to leave Stiles high and dry, but if he's lucky, Danny won't have left yet, so he leaves his phone in his pocket, grabs his bag, and hauls ass to the parking lot.

Stiles gets about half way down the steps when he hears a familiar thrum of an engine. His shoulders slump even as his heart does back-flips, werewolf style back-flips even, like his heart is trying burst out of his back or something. It's just; it'd be nice for someone to show up when they _don't_ need something. Derek rolls up in that stupid, sleek black Camaro with those stupid sunglasses on and the passenger window already rolled down. And then he goes and leans across the passenger seat and Stiles can see the way his stupid neck... Yeah, he's gonna stop that train of thought right now before it's more than his heart doing back-flips.

“You already missed Wolfboy,” Stiles says nonchalantly.

Derek's brow furrows, that sort of not-raised-eyebrow meets mad-eyebrows that Stiles is starting to think means Derek is confused and doesn't want to show it. “I wasn't looking for Scott?”

Stiles huffs but he knows his cheeks are burning. He tries not to think about the fact that Derek can hear his heartbeat, because Jesus, embarrassing himself much? “Right. So, what do you need me to research for you? I hope it's not another translation cos compensating for nuance is a bitch when you don't actually know the language. There's only so many resources on the internet for archaic stuff, and if we're going to try that dude at the college again I am _not_ doing this by myself.”

“Get in,” Derek says. It's... nicer than usual. Or really, it's not some kind of demand that implies there's a Derek status life-and-death situation. And it's so close to being a request it throws Stiles off a little.

“Um, okay.” Stiles fidgets with his bag strap and doesn't actually take a step closer yet. “You can't go all sour wolf on me for the way I smell though, cos there was lacrosse and I didn't think I'd be...” He stops short because the next words were going to be _up close and personal with a werewolf_ but that just sounds, well, wrong, and suggestive, and fuck it now his heart has got to be pumping blood backwards and Derek is starting to look really amused. “Yeah, so it better not take long since I have to shower and cook dinner cos if I'm not there to cook then Dad will make his own food and he'll eat things he's not supposed to and I think I actually have to write a paper for English class tomorrow and I haven't even actually looked at the reading yet and--”

“Stiles. Shut up and get in.”

Stiles doesn't know what to do with the fact that Derek actually didn't sound annoyed when he said that. He always sounds annoyed when he says that. What, is this Bizarro World? Is he dying, or something? He knows that some species of animals can sense that, sense, like, cancer or a seizure or whatever, and get help or be all empathetic and comforting in your last hours. Is that was this is?

His hand is on the car door handle when Derek makes an expression Stiles isn't used to. “...Am I really that … terrible to you?” Derek's voice sounds strangely quiet, almost... soft.

Of course, that means Stiles had actually said all of that out loud. _Shit_. “No, no... Well.” He sighs. “Yeah, kinda actually. You can be a real asshole and you have this awkward tendency to slam me into things?” Y'know, all those things that have made Stiles try to talk himself out of this stupid whatever it is he can't stop feeling. He tries to shrug it off, because he's not thinking about it now, not with Derek _right there_. “I just figured you didn't like me. That whole 'I don't trust you' thing.” Stiles doesn't say he always figured Derek never let him die because it would destroy any leverage he might have with Scott.

Derek doesn't say anything. In fact he just sort of stares at Stiles, his face unreadable. Stiles fidgets under that gaze, unsure whether he should be getting in the car now or not. He shouldn't _want_ to get into the car, but hey. He let that windmill fly by and he was running head long and full speed into the ravine.

“Not to be a bitch,” Stiles says, words pouring out of him as much to fill the silence as anything else. Fuck knows Danny will be long gone by now. “But I didn't bring my medication with me cos I wasn't expecting to be out this long today. I mean, not that I can't but I really ought to at least swing by and pick it up unless you want me set to random for the rest of whatever it is you were here to...” He waves a hand not so expressively so he doesn't actually say _to pick me up_. “Maybe I can get things set up for dinner too, so Dad can eat without me and he can't end up deciding that today is a good time for a triple cheeseburger, which it wouldn't take long, or whatever.”

Stiles wraps his hands around the bag strap now in an effort to stop fidgeting or flailing or running a hand through his hair. He'd been stacking his doses a little lopsided lately in a vague effort to study while he could, before the next were-something-or-other showed up and screwed with his grades. Now he's regretting it, because the effort to hold the strap casually is ridiculous and he's totally started tapping his foot.

Derek still hasn't said anything, hasn't gotten defensive or sarcastic or blown him off or completely ignored the topic continuing. Stiles can't see anything behind the sunglasses, well, not anything meaningful. It's making his chest tighten and he starts fidgeting again.

“Right, so...” Stiles licks his lips. “Are we still... Y'know... whatevering? It's starting to get dark and school is pretty much abandoned at this point. I mean, it's actually ripe for a zombie apocalypse right now. Like, if this were a movie or whatever. The light's just right, although, okay, it's not really quiet enough for that kind of predator? Not that I've had any experience running through the woods from predators, nope. But that's not, y'know, movie rules. Or I guess TV rules too, with Walking Dead. I'm really glad they stuck with the slow-movers. Though really Zombieland had a good idea too. Fast when they're fresh, and then slowing down as they rot--”

“I'm sorry.”

Stiles blinks. Derek sits up straight again, looking away, the line of his jaw tight. That coiled spot in Stiles' chest twists a little more, because Derek Hale? Does not apologize. Not that Stiles has ever heard. “What?” He's not actually sure the word makes it out of his mouth, raspy with shock, but of course Derek hears him.

Derek's jaw twitches, but he looks back at Stiles. “I'm sorry.” There's something about the way Derek's face almost moves, like he wants to say something else, something more, but none of it is working. “I didn't... I never meant...” And then there's an expression Stiles recognizes, that he's seen before, masked in anger but it isn't aimed at anyone else – Derek angry at himself (or worse) for a personal failure.

Is it actually possible he'd never realized? Stiles knew Derek was pretty screwed up, and damn well broken, but he hadn't ever had the sense that Derek did most anything unintentionally. And yet there's this look on his face, frown deepening, like he's only just realized what he's been doing. Like he knows there's nothing he could say to make it better, let alone make Stiles believe him, and becoming more convinced by the second that there's no way to fix it.

“I should go,” Derek finally says. Stiles has never heard his voice sound like that, except maybe once, talking about his sister and not talking about the fire.

But he must think Stiles is standing too close to the car or something because he doesn't pull away. On impulse, Stiles puts his hand on the door, making sure his palm sits right where the window would roll up. _Because you're an idiot_ , he thinks. There's no way this is the smart thing to do; in fact, he's pretty sure it's the opposite of the smart thing to do. Stiles usually trusts his gut – it hasn't gotten him killed yet – and he's hoping this isn't the time he's going to be totally wrong. “Listen, can you give me a ride home?”

Derek's face twitches, and Stiles imagines any number of responses that were probably all trying to rush out at the same time. “How can you even get in a car with me?” And there it is, all that self-loathing in a nutshell.

“Well,” Stiles says. He's starting to fidget again, thumping his heel on the curb, but he doesn't take his hand off the door. Okay, his fingers might be tapping a random rhythm onto Derek's car. “You haven't actually _tried_ to kill me. Which counts for _something,_ at least, I think so, counts for as much as the fact that you have, in fact, saved my life a few times too. So yeah, you're a dick, you're not winning a friend of the year award, and I really, really am not okay with getting, y'know, pushed and slammed or going forehead to the steering wheel, but I'm pretty sure that I'll survive getting from here to my house, and besides, everybody else is gone and I really, really don't want to have to walk home.” Stiles licks his lips and tries not to think about how Derek's expression hasn't changed and that could absolutely lead to Stiles walking home. “Alone. In approximate apocalypse conditions. And it's been pretty quiet lately so I kinda hope I'm not going to be the one to stumble into anything again like that time with the kanima at the body shop. So... can I get in now or did I completely screw myself with honesty?”

Derek studies him for a second, then nods. “Yeah, okay.”

Stiles doesn't bother hiding his relief and practically jumps into the car through the window. He's used to seeing Erica in shot-gun, or too busy almost dying to ever actually appreciate being inside of Derek's car. Leather seats. _Heated_ leather seats. Sweet Jesus, he has never felt something so wonderful after practice. If he didn't know better, he'd almost think Derek had done it on purpose.

He sighs. Or, actually, Stiles _tries_ to sigh. But the idea of Derek doing something small but really, really awesome just for him, combined with how badly his muscles have needed a little TLC turns that sigh into a _really_ unfortunate noise. He can feel his cheeks heating up and his heart is starting to do those crazy back-flips again. And hey, Derek is tightening his hand on the steering wheel like that was really the wrong, wrong thing to do. The wrongest of things. If it were any wronger he could star in one of those DirectTV ads.

Christ, he really needs to take his medication.

Stiles clears his throat a little and tries to sprawl less. It's not easy to manage, actually, what with these being sports car seats. It always looks so damn cool when you're standing outside the car looking in, but Stiles really just feels like an idiot. He also can't stop thinking up all the reasons why Chevy would make seats like this; most of them are sex positions.

Right. Medication, and never watching porn again, _ever_.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Derek doesn't look at him when he asks the question, but his voice has more layers of concern than an onion. (Shut up, the metaphor makes plenty of sense.)

Stiles hates that sound. Hates it even more when he's the one that's made someone concerned (especially his dad, who really doesn't need more concern for Stiles than he already does). Concern means someone's hurt, or sick (or dying) and no one in this car is either. Right? Well, apart from Stiles' heart deciding to do calisthenics.

 _Oh, for fuck's sake_. Stiles would probably smack his own forehead if he thought Derek wouldn't notice. _He probably thinks I'm freaking scared._ _And it doesn't help I haven't said anything yet._

“Yeah,” Stiles says, and is pretty pleased with how _not_ nervous or scared sounding it is. “I've just got a lot on my mind lately. Since I've actually got to pay attention to grades right now, there's a lot I've gotta make up for.”

“Ah.” Derek seems relatively mollified. It'll have to do.

Now to establish a little normalcy. “So... What was it you were gonna ask me to do. Y'know, before...” Stiles waves his hand a little, because really? Rehashing the stupidity much? With the not thinking before he speaks.

Derek doesn't say anything for a minute, so Stiles looks over at him. If he could've thought of a sarcastic comment to make that wouldn't have been sticking more of his foot past his molars, he'd have said it instead. He's kind of glad he didn't, because he's pretty sure Derek looks a little embarrassed. Derek glances sideways at him before flicking his eyes back to the road, and sighs.

“I...” Derek huffs again, obviously annoyed at something. For once, Stiles is pretty certain it's not himself. “You're always pestering me about the house. No, that's not...” Derek's knuckles are going white on the steering wheel again. “I didn't... Anyway. I've gotten most of the drywall put up.”

Stiles can't help the way his eyebrows go up. “Seriously? Dude, when did you even have time. I mean, it's been quiet but not that freaking quiet. Is being alpha seriously that awesome? Or, like, are you making Boyd and Isaac do it for you? I guess that would be being-an-alpha-is-just-that-awesome, but --” Derek gives him a look that make Stiles' teeth click shut in a heartbeat. Mostly because of how _not_ angry it is, and how it _is_ so... _surprised_. “Right. So. You've got drywall up. Which you didn't need me for. You need me to talk to Dad about zoning or compliance or something?”

“No, but I guess maybe in a month or two.”

“Sure.” Stiles can tell that it hadn't actually occurred to him before. “What then?”

Derek's lips twitch a little. “Decorating.”

That completely takes Stiles off guard, like he's been hit in the head with a lacrosse stick. Maybe even more than once. “Decor? Like furniture and...” Derek's starting to look embarrassed again, and it occurs to Stiles that maybe Derek thinks he's mocking him. “Have you got a color scheme?”

Yes, because talking color coordination is absolutely normal. _Good job, Stiles. You couldn't open with “What room did you want to start with?” Or “Where were you wanting to look for stuff?”_

“I need a color scheme?” Derek's eyes are wide and he sounds mildly terrified.

Stiles can't help laughing a little at the idea of Derek standing in front of a swatch wall at Home Depot looking completely and utterly lost. It makes Derek glance over at him again, eyes somehow wider. Stiles probably shouldn't be so amused that his amusement is enough to make Derek worry that much more... “No, no,” Stiles says, finally throwing him a bone. (Oh yeah, that pun is definitely intended.) “Well, yes, you do. But you don't have to start with one.”

Derek looks so relieved that Stiles has to look away and stop thinking. Because the way Derek's mouth moves and his shoulders relax... Yeah, right. Not thinking. Stiles swallows and hopes Derek will totally miss the way his heartbeat probably just fluttered. A lot.

He's also really, really thankful that werewolves aren't psychic on top of everything else. Stiles hasn't even got the idea that Derek hates him to temper his thought patterns with. Which isn't any less stupid than it was before, all things actually being considered, but if he's lucky maybe it won't end up being utterly _awful_.

Derek pulls into the driveway, more or less into the spot where the Jeep normally is. As Stiles pulls the strap of his bag over his shoulder, he can tell that Derek is starting to look uncomfortable again, staring resolutely out the driver's side window. Stiles has his hand on the door handle, but doesn't open the door, not yet. He's got this weird feeling that if he doesn't do something, if he just lets Derek leave, then the guy is just going to dig a deep hole where he buries everything else he hates himself for and push all things Stiles into it. Derek would be perfectly polite, and never, ever lay a hand on him again, except to save his life from something really deadly. Hell, he'd probably never ask Stiles a favor again either.

Which is really not what Stiles wants. Kind of the opposite of what he wants. Like, diametrically. If what he wants is Earth, this would absolutely be the Negative Zone. Yeah, empty parallel universe devoid of all life, except when Reed Richards unceremoniously dumps someone there for them to go fuck themselves forever.

… He's been sitting there just sort of staring at Derek's hand on the steering wheel again. _God, seriously. I need to fucking change my dosing schedule._

“So...” Stiles is trying to think of what to do. If he says he'll grab his meds and come back, he'd put money on Derek not being here when he stepped back outside. “You wanna come in?” _Yeah, cos that doesn't sound awkward_.

Derek turns to look at him again, like maybe he's going crazy. “What?”

 _Think of something, think of something, thinkofsomething dammit_. “Come inside? Like, out of your car, and into my house? Maybe have a drink? Water, I mean, obviously. Because I do _not_ want dad trying to ask me about alcohol.”

Derek just stares at him, openly confused. At times like this, Stiles wishes he could smell and hear like a werewolf. He could do with knowing what the fuck was going on inside that stupid alpha's head. “But...”

“Look, there's a lot of websites that have, like, mock rooms online.” _Yahtzee. Thank you, brain._ “With furniture, and colors, and curtains and whatever. I know you're not gonna go look that up by yourself. So.” He looks at his front door, then back at Derek. Twice. “It'd give you someplace to start figuring out what you want to do?”

Derek shakes his head a little, but Stiles can't read his expression. “You really don't have to –“

“Psht. Of course I don't.” Stiles fully endorses the no-fucking-shit-Sherlock look he gives Derek. Does he actually think Stiles feels obligated? _More like he's trying to give me an easy out._ “Alright. You're a dick, but you're not a total douche-nozzle. I mean, sure, you could end up proving me wrong. Here's how that works. You put my head into the steering wheel or other hard surface, or hit me, or throw me against a wall with no intention to either prevent something else from hurting me or trying to kiss me.” _Seriously, oh my god, did I just say that?_ “Just once, no three strikes or you should've tried harder – I stop talking to you, or doing any research or whatever-the-fuck for you, and generally will do everything to not be, I don't know, in general running distance of you? That's probably excessive, you run pretty fast, so we'll say double arms length, but that's only if Scott or Allison is there too.

“And that isn't to say I don't want you to save my life, or if I can save your life that I won't. But everything else goes through someone else. And if you send a beta, they don't get to smack me around in your place. Which seems pretty obvious but, y'know, I'm pretty sure it's gonna need a directive from you.” Stiles pauses, watches Derek's face, watches Derek process his words. “But. Yeah. Assuming I _am_ right... well, it's hard to start over when there's all those near death experiences we keep having? But as close to that as it gets. Deal?”

Derek's eyes have gone a little wide, almost like surprise but not quite, and he's slack-jawed in a way that's making it really difficult for Stiles to look him in the eye instead of staring at his lips. Derek blinks a little. Yeah, Stiles could definitely go for some werewolf senses right now, because he really can't tell if it's a good shocked or a bad shocked. _And seriously, is Derek that unfamiliar with the concept of forgiveness?_

… _Actually, yeah, he probably is._

Stiles wants to smack both their foreheads. Simultaneously. No, no, Derek's first. “I'm just gonna sit here until you say yes or no. Which is gonna get awkward as soon as my dad pulls in the driveway cos he's gonna start wondering if something's killing people again. Or if _you're_ going to get _me_ killed. Also you're over a little too far so he can't pull into his spot.”

Derek's shaking his head again, and Stiles' heart sinks. He hadn't actually thought Derek would say no. Seriously, who would actually say no to the option of a clean slate? Stiles can feel his brain starting to spin out, his thoughts about to dive down a rabbit hole labeled _fuck my life he did hate me_. He swallows, tries to keep his breathing even. He has no idea what his heart is actually doing, because he thinks it's stopped and since he's not dead or a vampire, that can't actually be possible.

Stiles can't seem to convince his hand to pull the door handle and get out.

Derek huffs. “You're unbelievable.”

“Usually,” Stiles answers automatically, but the truth is he has no idea what that means. Not coming from Derek. Not in that tone of voice. Which doesn't sound like the _No_ Stiles thought was happening. He takes a chance and says, “If you pull forward a little you should manage to get out of the way enough.”

Derek sighs. But he also takes his foot off of the break and lets the car roll forward exactly like Stiles said to. If it weren't for the fact that Stiles would probably hurt himself, he would totally be making victory arms. Or possibly doing the dorkiest of dances. He does actually grin like a total idiot though.

Stiles still waits for Derek to put the car in park and pull the keys from the ignition before he opens the door. Now he really can't hold still, between the triumph of at least temporarily overcoming Derek Hale's stubbornness and the subconscious knowledge that he's only a few steps away from his medication and a night of researching all things decor with the aforementioned Derek Hale in close proximity.

Derek laughs at him. It's a relaxed sound, even if Derek's blushing a little and still looks embarrassed and sorry. He clicks the beeper and follows Stiles inside. “Unbelievable.”

Maybe it is. But right now? Stiles likes his odds.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't actually intend to deal with the subject that's dealt with. This was supposed to be _short and extremely fluffy_. Really, she just gave me the parameters of "something with Stiles" and "needs to have a happy ending". And then I started writing, and Stiles got his feelings everywhere, and then of course Derek had to get feelings everywhere... And yes.
> 
> I'm open to con-crit, but not flaming. I recognize the sensitivity to the issue of physical abuse, and have done my best to deal with it well. If you don't think I have, a reasonable discussion of why and how etc. is more than welcome.


End file.
